"He is a nervous man, not too much of a Jesuit, and will doubtless be a candidate," he said to her.
"He has a more sinister and persevering ambition than poor Croisenois, and as there has never been a dukedom in his family, he will be only too glad to marry Julien Sorel's widow."
"A widow, though, who scorns the grand passions," answered Mathilde coldly, "for she has lived long enough to see her lover prefer to her after six months another woman who was the origin of all their unhappiness."
"You are unjust!
Madame de Renal's visits will furnish my advocate at Paris, who is endeavouring to procure my pardon, with the subject matter for some sensational phrases; he will depict the murderer honoured by the attention of his victim.
That may produce an impression, and perhaps some day or other, you will see me provide the plot of some melodrama or other, etc., etc."
A furious and impotent jealousy, a prolonged and hopeless unhappiness (for even supposing Julien was saved, how was she to win back his heart?), coupled with her shame and anguish at loving this unfaithful lover more than ever had plunged mademoiselle de la Mole into a gloomy silence, from which all the careful assiduity of M. de Frilair was as little able to draw her as the rugged frankness of Fouque.
As for Julien, except in those moments which were taken up by Mathilde's presence, he lived on love with scarcely a thought for the future.
"In former days," Julien said to her, "when I might have been so happy, during our walks in the wood of Vergy, a frenzied ambition swept my soul into the realms of imagination.
Instead of pressing to my heart that charming arm which is so near my lips, the thoughts of my future took me away from you; I was engaged in countless combats which I should have to sustain in order to lay the foundations of a colossal fortune. No, I should have died without knowing what happiness was if you had not come to see me in this prison."
Two episodes ruffled this tranquil life.
Julien's confessor, Jansenist though he was, was not proof against an intrigue of the Jesuits, and became their tool without knowing it.
He came to tell him one day that unless he meant to fall into the awful sin of suicide, he ought to take every possible step to procure his pardon.
Consequently, as the clergy have a great deal of influence with the minister of Justice at Paris, an easy means presented itself; he ought to become converted with all publicity.
"With publicity," repeated Julien.
"Ha, Ha!
I have caught you at it—I have caught you as well, my father, playing a part like any missionary."
"Your youth," replied the Jansenist gravely, "the interesting appearance which Providence has given you, the still unsolved mystery of the motive for your crime, the heroic steps which mademoiselle de la Mole has so freely taken on your behalf, everything, up to the surprising affection which your victim manifests towards you, has contributed to make you the hero of the young women of Besancon.
They have forgotten everything, even politics, on your account.
Your conversion will reverberate in their hearts and will leave behind it a deep impression.
You can be of considerable use to religion, and I was about to hesitate for the trivial reason that in a similar circumstance the Jesuits would follow a similar course.
But if I did, even in the one case which has escaped their greedy clutches they would still be exercising their mischief.
The tears which your conversation will cause to be shed will annul the poisonous effect of ten editions of Voltaire's works."
"And what will be left for me," answered Julien, coldly, "if I despise myself?
I have been ambitious; I do not mean to blame myself in any way. Further, I have acted in accordance with the code of the age.
Now I am living from day to day.
But I should make myself very unhappy if I were to yield to what the locality would regard as a piece of cowardice...."
Madame de Renal was responsible for the other episode which affected Julien in quite another way.
Some intriguing woman friend or other had managed to persuade this naive and timid soul that it was her duty to leave for St. Cloud, and go and throw herself at the feet of King Charles X.
She had made the sacrifice of separating from Julien, and after a strain as great as that, she no longer thought anything of the unpleasantness of making an exhibition of herself, though in former times she would have thought that worse than death.
"I will go to the king. I will confess freely that you are my lover. The life of a man, and of a man like Julien, too, ought to prevail over every consideration.
I will tell him that it was because of jealousy that you made an attempt upon my life.
There are numerous instances of poor young people who have been saved in such a case by the clemency of the jury or of the king."
"I will leave off seeing you; I will shut myself up in my prison," exclaimed Julien, "and you can be quite certain that if you do not promise me to take no step which will make a public exhibition of us both, I will kill myself in despair the day afterwards.
This idea of going to Paris is not your own.
Tell me the name of the intriguing woman who suggested it to you.
"Let us be happy during the small number of days of this short life.
Let us hide our existence; my crime was only too self-evident.
Mademoiselle de la Mole enjoys all possible influence at Paris.
Take it from me that she has done all that is humanly possible.
Here in the provinces I have all the men of wealth and prestige against me.
Your conduct will still further aggravate those rich and essentially moderate people to whom life comes so easy.... Let us not give the Maslons, the Valenods, and the thousand other people who are worth more than they, anything to laugh about."
Julien came to find the bad air of the cell unbearable.
Fortunately, nature was rejoicing in a fine sunshine on the day when they announced to him that he would have to die, and he was in a courageous vein.
He found walking in the open air as delicious a sensation as the navigator, who has been at sea for a long time, finds walking on the ground.
"Come on, everything is going all right," he said to himself. "I am not lacking in courage."
His head had never looked so poetical as at that moment when it was on the point of falling.
The sweet minutes which he had formerly spent in the woods of Vergy crowded back upon his mind with extreme force.
Everything went off simply, decorously, and without any affectation on his part.
Two days before he had said to Fouque: